Here’s another batch of postcard poems for Concrete Wolf’s Poetry Postcard project. Later this week I’ll be posting up some of the fun little things I’ve received in my mailbox.
From a postcard with a farmhouse in bright flowered countryside.
This old farmhouse keeps
windin’ wind into a living.
Hardened hands are for thinning the poppies,
weaving technicolor cloth down the lane.
This farmer needs a song,
From a postcard with an old drive-in.
“Wonderful grease” my husband says
The eves, the window, the smear
on paper from your fingers.
God it’s good.
And it’s always night.
Daytime looks so hungry here.
From a postcard with an altered series of Shakespeare’s portrait.
Love stories are sung in violent color
(color that refuses stoutly to blend too far).
No chalking dust into dust,
thank you sir, dame, lord,
but torch these oils to flame,
crystalline ash that croons
insistent in its dying.
Mark you well the fevered flame.
Sing it. Paint it.
Write in every hue.
From a scenic, aerial view of Anderson Island.
Now that’s real.
The stinging slap of sun
where your thoughtless skin
and revealed its layered heart
to the sky and the farm
and God and everyone.
You’ll feel that tomorrow.
From a postcard with a profile of the Christine Anderson ferryboat.
Minutes, car lengths only from the pier
and we are gone.
Christine carries us out to sea.
You could swim from here, you could
–but the water is so deep, so black
and so cold, so filled
with soft-boiled jellyfishes
seconds, inches below the surface we skim–
Your lungs shudder, even now and so
we lean, breathe.
Wait for Christine to bring us home.